The 47th Hunger Games
by Shalaesaes
Summary: The Hunger Games go on for 75 years, but only a few are ever told. Follow the story of a girl from District 5 who is thrown into the 47th Hunger Games. With no real survival skills and a fear of violence, she struggles to live and remain as herself.


I won't ramble here, I'll ramble after. This is an OC fix, aka it features original characters centered in the Hunger Games world, with some familiar faces. All world aspects, and characters from the books are © Suzanne Collins. The rest are mine.

Without further ado, the **47th Hunger Games**!

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><p>I sit quietly as my mother works with my hair, twisting and gently pulling to make a neat bun, leaving small strands hanging to frame my face. My hands shake and fidget in my lap, pulling and twisting at the fabric of my shift. Loud footsteps announce my younger brother's appearance, his bare feet slapping on the tile floor. He laughs and clambers into my lap, snatching up my hands to try to pull me into a clapping game. I can only smile as my mother scolds him, because I appreciate his appearance. It has brought a smile to my face, as he does for everyone in our family.<p>

A four year old wouldn't understand the importance of today. Today is the Reaping, and my name is in the drawing six times. I have never taken tesserae, but few in our district have. We are taken care of well enough, here in District 5. There is the chance my name could be drawn today, just as anyone else. The few that do put in for tesserae have more to worry about than I do, but they are a scant few. Most try to help out the starving if they have enough. Those with names in more times than I have will be scarce.

My mother knows my fear, and as her hands stroke my hair to gather strands that have escaped, she tries to soothe me. "It could be anyone, Marni." How is that a comfort, though? It would be worse if it was a friend. But I offer a small sound in agreement and allow my little brother, Miles, to situate himself on my lap to play a clapping game. I can almost sense my mother's expression tightening as I move, but she understands, as she doesn't ask me to be still.

Several minutes later the tugging stops, and she steps around to swing the little boy from my lap. He giggles as I reach up a hand to tickle his ribs, and my mother sets him on the ground and shoos him away. It takes a moment to collect my wobbly legs under me, but I stand to see my reflection in her hand mirror. I look like myself, only my mother has done a better job than I ever manage. My hair, brown and reaching to my shoulder blades, is notoriously unruly.

After several moments with the hand mirror, she turns and gives me a hug, placing a kiss where my hair meets forehead. I feel like a young child again, not that I would mind. "Only one more year, Marni," she murmurs, then breaks away, hiding tears. "I'll go make breakfast. Your dress is on the bed." When I nod, she walks away, calling for Miles so I can dress. My steps are quiet on the cool tile as I head down the hall.

There are two kinds of houses for citizens of District 5. Family houses and single houses. Family houses have two bedrooms, a small family room with enough area to place chairs to surround the TV, and a kitchen with space for a small dining table. Single housing tends to consist of a bedroom, small kitchen, and a very small sitting room. We have running water, but bathrooms are shared between buildings, which usually hold ten units. My family lives on the bottom of one of these units. Above me, I can hear a family preparing breakfast, surely dreading the reaping. I know they have a boy several grades below me. It's probably his first reaping.

I feel sorry for them, I really do. While our lives here in District 5 are well enough, no one is spared from the Reaping. Even if you are in only once, your name may still be called. Just last year, the boy from District 3 was a twelve year old. He died the first day. I can't remember his name, but his face as he died strikes me even now, so I try to shake the picture from my mind. Reaping day is hard enough without such thoughts.

We don't have doors, but curtains, and I draw it over the doorway in the bedroom Miles and I share. My dress is new, as I had hopefully outgrown my last Reaping dress. Few things are celebrated in the Districts, and the Reaping least of all, but we are encouraged to dress nicely. Encouraged may be too nice a word. Those who don't dress nicely often find themselves demoted to a lower position for small reasons. Over the years, the reputation for this punishment grew, and now it is few that refuse to dress up.

Here, where most of our clothes are uniforms for work or school, the nice clothing is special. A new dress is incredible, and my parents have made it together. It is a treasure. Simple, soft green cloth in a bare bones design, but they made it. I slip out of my shift and into the dress, smoothing it before spinning once. Laughter comes unbidden as it flies up and around. Perhaps it is not up to the gaudy standards of the Capitol, but I feel beautiful. I only wish it wasn't for such a horrendous occasion.

"_Someday,"_ I think to myself, "_I'll have a better reason to wear such a dress." _Once more I make my way through the hall, and though I make no effort to be quiet, I can't seem to make as much noise as Miles does. It's almost as if he tries to create as much noise as possible. I chuckle at the idea and rush to my mother, planting a kiss on her cheek, which seems to startle her.

"It's beautiful, mum."

A smile lights up her face, and it makes her look young, that brightness in her face. "Well, do thank your father, dear. He did the skirt."

My hands smooth over the soft cotton skirt, and I smile. Of course he did. Both my father and mother work in the plants, and at home, they split tasks as equally as they can. Apparently, this even extends to dress making. I will thank him when he gets home. Not everyone can take off on Reaping day, as power is important today. He has secured a short day, and promises to be home in time for the reaping. His shift started hours ago. Mother will work tonight.

The Reaping is in two hours, but I dressed early in hopes to be able to find my friends and not have to return home to dress. It isn't long until breakfast is on the table, and while I don't feel hungry, I eat what I can. Then, planting another kiss on my mother's cheek, tickling and working a hug from Miles, I head towards the door. I'm only stopped by her hand on my shoulder as she seizes one of my hands, pressing a few small coins into it.

"Buy a treat and have fun with your friends." I don't argue, only throw my arms around her thin shoulders in a hug. She has trouble with this day, my mother. Of course, this is common for most mothers. If they have a child of age, they know they could lose them to the games beyond their control. So I do my best to press what love I can into this hug.

"I love you!" I add as I disentangle myself and dart out the door, barely remembering to slip my feet into sandals. There is a small pocket on the skirt of my dress, and I drop the coins into it, stumbling down the couple of steps as I shift my feet into the sandals properly. Then I'm off again, feeling almost childish as I run, but I want as much time with my friends as I can.

I slow when I remember my carefully done hair, but soon forget it once more when I see them at our usual meeting place. The intersections between Power Plant blocks are popular places to meet, and we aren't out of the norm. One of my feet stumbles out of my sandals as I pick up my pace, and by the time I've managed to get it back on, they've made it to me.

"About time, Marni! We were about to start worrying about you!" Chris slings an arm around me and steadies me as I regain my balance. He's in my year at school, with a brain for numbers, so he's in many of the classes I am. We became fast friends some years back. With a laugh, I shove his arm off, jabbing a finger in his ribs while I'm at it. He lets go with a yelp that turns to a smile. For a while we will forget the Reaping. It's a rare day we don't have school and nothing better to do.

The two girls follow him and, with teasing and laughter, we're off. Sina snatches Chris's arm and seems to drag him along, prattling happily about whatever she can think of - we're trying very hard to make a happy day out of what isn't. Because the other option is to be upset, and there's time later for that. Our dismal little district has little in the way of nature or shops, but we have one shop block, mostly practical. But there are small shops for those times when something special will do. And that seems to be where our little group is headed.

Renna hangs back beside me, and her hand slips into mine. Honestly, I'm never sure what we're doing, because neither of us seem able to decide. We've been friends since we were little, and we live in the same Power Block. For the past year or so we've been faltering along, thinking and admitting that maybe there's more than friendship, and having little idea of where to go with that. Most people aren't sure what to think of it. They assume we're just good friends. So we hold hands, and I skip ahead, towing her so that I can grab Chris by the arm.

Today, we'll stick together, I figure, and no one protests. Sina flashes me a smile on the other side of the boy, and I try to tell a story about Miles and his antics. When that dies down, other conversation begins, but it soon becomes a blur. And then we're at the block, so we parade into the small variety shop. It has a fair amount of useful things, and a few useless things, such as sweets and expensive fabrics. Sina, who is already working at the age of sixteen, has a couple spare coins and purchases a few hard candies. I pick up a bag of peppermints and it costs me most of the money, but I can share them.

Outside, we sit on a bench against the side of the building, where grass grows at our feet, even if sparsely. We share out our candies and talk about everything and anything but the Reaping. Stories about siblings, school, the usual. Renna leans against me to murmur something in my ear.

"Your dress, it's pretty. I've never seen it before."

I smile at her and lean against her in return, not trying to be secretive, just not wishing to disturb the animated conversation that the other two have engaged in. "Thanks. Mother and Dad made it." And then, trying to think of anything else to say fails. I offer her a peppermint instead, and she doesn't comment. I'm not so good with words.

After such a fumble, I feel bad. Today is a dark day, as much as we're trying so hard to pretend it isn't. We're all together, and Sina isn't working. It's a good thing, isn't it? But suddenly, the dead boy's face, along with others, springs to mind, and the happiness feels forced. So I put my arm around Renna and try to rejoin the conversation. The others have grown quiet too, however. It seems Sina has run out of things to say.

For a while no one says anything, and I'm worried about the time. When the speakers across the district announce the Reaping, we will have just enough time to make it to the square. It would be best if we left early. But we don't want to leave this place, where we haven't been reminded of the Reaping by anything around us.

"We should get going." I finally have to suggest it, and everyone agrees with quiet mumbles. I stand, and Renna slides from my grasp, so I seize her hand. This seems to shake her from her daze, and we head towards the square, walking slower than when we'd come that way. It's about two blocks out when the announcements go out, so we keep going. At least I'll have time to find my mother in the crowd.

When we make it to the square, and separate to go check in or find our families. It takes me several moments to find my mother in the crowd, but she's there with my father and Miles, so I make my way over to them, carefully weaving around parents and spectators. Nobody smiles, but they hug me, and I just keep trying to keep the bloody images away. A kiss on Miles forehead, a hug to my father and mother.

"The dress is wonderful, Da," I add, hugging him again for good measure before shuffling off to check in. After check in, I make my way to the pen for our age group, on the female side, and find Renna. Sina is in the group in front of us, and she stands near the back, nervously conversing with her. Again we find one another's hands, and stand talking to Sina as others gather. I find my hands are shaking.

Who isn't nervous, though, in this crowd? It's hard not to realize it could be anyone. Sina's face, usually so tanned from the hours outside after work, is pale. Renna's hand sweats. Trying to forget the Reaping is done with, because it's here, announcements ringing out. Attendance is optional, and most of the audience is made up of parents. Still, many will watch it at home. All eyes are on the children who will go to an arena to die.

I'm too short to see much, so I watch the elevated screen. The Mayor, a man I've never had reason to meet, is on stage, looking as dignified as she can manage. Beside her, a younger man I recognize as Nolan Crofford, our only victor living, fidgets in his seat. And, as if called, the District 5 escort trots onto stage. She's the height of Capitol fashion, all bright colors and flamboyance, a look we only ever see on the TVs or Reapings and Tours. I'm not familiar with her, but she's introduced as Vi, and seems to lack a last name.

She allows the Mayor the stand, and he goes through the necessary speeches, and then there's the other typical presentations. A young girl, in the twelve year old section, faints, and Peacekeepers carry her out. This seems to fluster the escort, but she continues, trotting up to the podium with seemingly good cheer. "Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be in your favor!" she chirps, a phrase that is said, to some similarity, every year, in every district. My hold on Renna's hand squeezes, and she squeezes back.

And I'm praying, hoping, that it's not me, it's not me. And then I realize if it's not me, it's just some other innocent kid, maybe even my friend, but I'm still hoping that it isn't me, it isn't me. If I could read thoughts, I'm almost sure that everyone is tensed, thinking the same things, but I just keep wishing and hoping that it isn't me.

"Marni Hesselman!" she calls, and I crumple. I feel like the world has fallen out from under my feet, but hands are helping me back up onto wobbly legs, and Renna still grips my hand, but she's frozen. Tears run down my face and I try to tug my hand from hers, but it takes another moment before she seems to react. Everything is moving so fast, but I'm sure I've been here minutes, trying to balance, trying to escape. But I don't really want to leave.

Finally my hand is slipped from hers, and she turns to me. She's crying, and I wish she wasn't, but I know she can't help it. There's no time to give her a hug, anything, but I yank her close, hissing into her ear, "Don't you dare volunteer." Just in case she was thinking it. I don't know what's going on in her head.

I turn and stumble, but someone catches me and sets me upright, so I shuffle to the aisle and to the stage. My legs feel wobbly and tears are streaming down my face and I can't stop them, don't want to stop them, because I don't care if I look weak. I'm going to die.

Then I remember my parents in the audience, and I try to straighten. Vi is saying something, but I don't hear her, everything sounds like meaningless noise. I wobble onto the stage and stand there, trying to stand up straight and proud, but I know I'm failing. Carefully I set my shaking hands on my legs, pinching the fabric, trying to steady myself. I just hope my baby brother can't see what's going on.

Vi has moved on, and is scrambling for a slip in the next ball, and she finally pulls the paper out. "Simon Goldner!" she calls, a smile on her face. I try not to hate her for that smile, because I don't think it's her fault. You hear things about the Capitol, even here.

A tall, lean boy steps to the aisle. He seems so steady compared to my stumbling, shuffling trip to the stage, but I notice his hands are shaking. After all, he will probably die too. We have no skills here, we work with power. I try to take in his face, his name, but I doubt it will stick. I've seen him before, surely, but I don't know him. A part of me hates that I'm thinking, _at least it isn't Chris_. No one deserves this, do they? It's been forty-seven years since the rebellion ended. Surely they've had enough children.

We shake hands, and it's at least as sweaty as mine is, even if he's not crying. My throat hurts from the sobs I hold back, but I don't want my family to see me cry any more. Vi asks for a round of applause for the _brave_ tributes, and there's a smattering of clapping. Then we're taken into the Justice Building by Peacekeepers and into rooms where we're left sitting on furniture much fancier than any citizen home would ever have.

When my parents come in, my father has his arm around my mother, and Miles looks upset, though he's not yet crying. He spots me and wiggles from her arms and runs across the floor. I take him into my lap and hug him, because if he's hugging me he can't see my face. I don't want my brother to see me cry. There's no way he can understand this day, and I'm glad he won't, but he understands tears.

I take that moment to compose myself, and when he shoves for me to stop, I do. My smile is weak, but I manage a smile, and he clambers into mother's lap, as she's taken a seat beside me. Father leans against the side of the small sofa like seat, and places a hand on my shoulder. They don't seem to know what to say, but with my mother's arm around me and father's hand on my shoulder, I don't know what to feel, to think. I can't process any of this, but they make me feel safer.

"I love you all," I manage to stammer, and stand, because I want real hugs from my parents. And then we're all crying and saying goodbye and nobody seems to know what else to say, because these are the Hunger Games. Only one person will survive. And how could it be me? Would I even want to live, having seen so many die?

The Peacekeepers come and my parents leave, but Miles is screaming for me because all the tears have upset him. I try to run after them, wanting to take him, protect him from all of this, but the Peacekeepers knock me back. I don't even make it back to the seat, just crumple to the ground, tugging aimlessly at my skirt.

Chris and Sina come in next, and they try to talk to me, but I'm unintelligible for most of it. They pick me up from the floor, settling me on the sofa, and squeeze in, not caring about the space. Finally I ask why Renna isn't with them.

"She wanted to see you alone," Sina tells me, offering a lopsided smile.

Chris grabs my hand as if it will allow him to get his message across better. "You can win, Marni! You're smart enough." It's an empty encouragement, but I appreciate it.

When the Peacekeepers come, they go without a fuss, both hugging me for what might be the last time. I sniffle out a farewell, and, with the idea in mind that Renna might be next, I try to steel myself.

It's several minutes before anyone else makes an appearance, and the Peacekeeper tells us we have five minutes as he closes the door. She steps in and stands there, shaking, for a long moment before making a dash for the sofa. Renna crumples next to me, taking my hands, holding me close. I glance at the clock, trying to gauge the time, because I need to find words and I don't have much time.

Those words just won't come, but she holds my hands, fingers restless. Then she's speaking, and I can just tell she's trying so hard to stay composed, because her hands are shaking. "Don't worry about any of us, just... Do what your mentor says. Try to. I don't know..."

She trails off, and I can't blame her. A slight squeeze of my hands brings her back, and she meets my gaze, letting out a nervous, teary laugh. "I'm sorry Marni, I just don't know what to say. I..."

A knock sounds on the door, and a warning time is finishing up. I break the hand hold and throw my arms around her, realizing I just don't care anymore, what anyone thinks. Renna presses her cheek against mine, and the words come before I can control them. "I love you..."

Renna pushes back, and a small smile appears on her face. "I love you too," she mumbles, pressing her forehead to mine, and I'm crying again. But I don't want her to see, so I try to hold in the sobs. She hugs me again, her thin arms around my shoulders, and then the Peacekeeper is there to take her away.

There's no protesting, but I want to scream, to fall after her, because I don't want this last friendship to be gone. I don't want to die. Instead, because I don't want to upset her, I stumble to my feet and to her, giving her a hug, and the Peacekeeper allows it. "Don't watch the games, Renna, just don't. Let the others tell you... Tell you... Whatever happens," I whisper fiercely into her ear, but I can't finish. I don't know what I meant to say.

And when I let go, she's gone.

That's when I break. Peacekeepers in white uniforms haul me to my feet, and keep me stumbling along until we reach the car and I'm loaded in. My fellow tribute is there, but I don't care, I just don't care.

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><p>This story is inspired by an in depth critique of the Hunger Games, that I can link to per request. It made me wonder if I could craft a Hunger Game. This story will feature the 47th Hunger Games, and events surrounding it. No rebellion. I'm not writing a book series.<p>

I appreciate any and all reviews (and definitely critiques)! :) I don't write fanfic often, and I'm writing an original story as well, so updates may be infrequent.

That is all. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!


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